


Symptomatic

by nishizono



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cliche, M/M, Sex Pollen, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-05
Updated: 2011-10-05
Packaged: 2017-10-24 08:44:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/261383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nishizono/pseuds/nishizono
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam has an unexpected reaction to an amphisbaena bite, Dean swears he summoned the thing by accident, and Bobby <i>really</i> wishes he didn't have to explain how to fix it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Symptomatic

“It could be worse,” said Dean.

Sam glared at him across the table. The diner’s ceiling fans were stirring up just enough breeze to make his hair flutter, and even though he should have looked ridiculous, the effect was actually terrifying. It was like he was so angry he’d summoned an indoor storm to make himself scarier.

Dean offered him a hesitant grin and tried again: “At least it wasn’t leprechauns.”

“That’s comforting, Dean. Thank you,” said Sam in the same tone he used when exorcising demons. He was stirring his coffee so vigorously it sloshed up over the edge of his cup and onto the formica tabletop. Meanwhile, with his other hand, he was shredding a paper napkin to bits. He was the only person Dean knew who could multitask irritation.

“Look on the bright side,” said Dean. “It’s not the end of the world, right? I mean, we’ve already been there, done that.”

Sam’s expression didn’t change.

“Once you’ve seen one apocalypse, you’ve seen ‘em all?”

Sam’s eyes narrowed.

Dean slumped in the booth. The vinyl felt sticky through his t-shirt, and a broken spring was poking him in the leg. He wondered if Sam was using some kind of leftover mojo to punish him.

“You summoned an amphisbaena,” said Sam.

“By accident.”

“It bit me.”

“You’re alive!”

“Dean, you summoned an amphisbaena, and it _bit_ me, and now--” Sam’s jaw clenched, and he went back to stirring his coffee, letting his spoon clack against the sides of his cup. His cheeks were red, but Dean wasn’t sure if that was from anger or embarrassment.

“Hey, it won’t last forever,” said Dean, turning serious for a moment. “I promise, okay? We’ll figure it out. We always do.”

Sam scowled again, but it only lasted for a second before he sighed like all the fight had gone out of him. “Yeah, I guess.”

“That’s my boy.” Dean grinned and jabbed a finger at the plate of fries next to Sam’s elbow. “You gonna eat those?”

“Don’t push it.”

~*~*~*~*~

“You know,” said Dean later that night, “with a little bit of prep work, this could be one hell of a practical joke.” When Sam threw him a dark look, he added, “Once we find the cure, I mean.”

Sam shook his head and slouched over the bar like he was too tired to hold himself upright. “I’m glad you think this is funny.”

“Aw come on, man. Like you wouldn’t be laughing your ass off if this was happening to me?”

“Dean, we don’t even know what the venom is going to do to me. According to everything we’ve read, I should be dead by now. What if this _thing_ is just the start? What if it gets so bad it kills me?”

“I know you’re kinda naive, little brother, but last I checked, you can’t croak from being horny.”

Sam scowled.

“Or gay,” said Dean, “or a little bit gay, or whatever.”

Sam put his head in his hands.

Dean sighed and surveyed the room. The bar wasn’t anything special, just a po’dunk dive in a po’dunk town, but it had gathered a pretty good crowd. Dean let his gaze wander until he spotted a tall, decent-looking kid in a plaid shirt and jeans who was playing a game of pool. He’d just bent over to line up a shot, and Dean admired the view for a second before nudging Sam’s elbow with his own.

“What?” muttered Sam.

“Over there,” said Dean, gesturing with his beer. “What about him? Good shoulders, great ass...”

“What are you--?” Sam followed Dean’s gaze and pressed his lips together with disapproval.

“Quit making faces, Sammy. Look, if you’re stuck with this whole gay-by-venom problem--”

“No, Dean.”

“Not your type, huh? Well, what about the guy next to him? Hair’s a little long, but-- _ow_ ,” said Dean, cradling his shoulder. “What the fuck was that for?”

Sam’s fist was drawn back like he wanted to punch Dean again, but then he made a frustrated sound and let his hand fall. “Sorry.”

“You bet your ass you are.” Dean scowled, but when Sam just sighed and looked away, he frowned. “Hey man, I’m not trying to be a dick here. I’m just trying to make you laugh.”

“I know,” muttered Sam. He raked his fingers through his hair and stared into his empty beer glass. “It’s not funny, though.”

“All right, all right,” Dean conceded. “No more jokes tonight. I promise.”

“Just tonight?”

Dean looked him in the eye and said, “A wise man accepts his limitations, Sammy.”

The corners of Sam’s lips twitched. It wasn’t quite a smile, but it was close enough for Dean.

~*~*~*~*~

Hauling 6’4” of solid, drunken muscle out of an Impala and into a motel room was no easy task. The whole thing was made even harder by the fact that the drunkard in question had both arms around Dean’s neck and was mumbling into his hair about brotherly love and family bonds, and something that sounded vaguely like, ‘Bon Jovi,’ although that might’ve been wishful thinking on Dean’s part.

“Upsy daisy,” said Dean as he dumped his brother onto one of the beds.

“This’s’nt my bed,” Sam slurred and tried to sit up, but Dean pushed him down again.

“It is tonight. C’mon, be a good boy and lie still.”

Sam did as he was told and lifted up when Dean asked him to so they could get his jacket off. Dean moved on to untie his shoes, and Sam propped himself up on his elbows to watch. He was bleary-eyed but adoring, like Dean’s ability to untie shoelaces while drunk was the most amazing thing he’d ever seen.

“You’re plastered.” Dean chuckled, because making fun of Sam was easier than dealing with his sudden heartache. Sam hadn’t looked at him that way in years.

“You’re awesome.” Sam grinned and somehow managed to sway while lying down.

Dean laughed and shook his head. He pulled the blankets up and tucked them under Sam’s chin, and he was about to ask if Sam wanted a bedtime story too when Sam reached out and grabbed him by the wrist. Dean was so startled that he tried to pull away, but Sam was stronger.

“S’been a long time since you tucked me in,” said Sam, looking up at Dean through his lashes.

The expression on his face set off warning bells in Dean’s head, but he let Sam pull him into a hug anyway. Sam’s arms were heavy around his shoulders, and Dean twitched a little when he felt Sam’s nose against his jaw. “Uh, Sammy?” He forced a laugh. “Sam, I’m having trouble breathing here, man.”

“You smell good,” muttered Sam. “You always smell good.”

Dean swallowed and tried to untangle himself. “I’m gonna smell like rotting corpse soon if you don’t stop choking me, dude. Jesus, no wonder you never get wasted. You’re embarrassing.”

Sam made one last, futile grab at Dean’s jacket, then flopped back amongst the pillows. He had a drowsy smile on his face, and his voice was almost a purr when he drawled, “Dean.”

“Is going to bed,” said Dean in his gruffest older brother voice. “Right now.”

“Yeah, okay,” mumbled Sam. He closed his eyes, and less than a minute later, he was snoring.

Dean turned away and scrubbed his hands over his face. He felt like he’d just dodged a bullet, but he didn’t know which gun had fired it.

~*~*~*~*~

The next morning, despite Dean’s protests, Sam declared a temporary ban on alcohol until they found a cure. This was, he claimed, the only reliable way to make sure Dean would help him research.

Much to Dean’s consternation, the plan worked.

“Hey Sam,” said Dean around a mouthful of hot dog, “listen to this: the amphisbaena takes its name from the Greek word, ‘ _amphis_ ,’ which means, ‘both ways,’ and, ‘ _bainein_ ,’ which means, ‘to go.’”

“I know,” said Sam without looking up from his laptop, “and stop eating that in my bed.”

“Get it? The thing’s name actually means ‘goes both ways’.”

Sam rolled his eyes and typed something without even glancing in Dean’s direction. He’d been avoiding eye contact all morning, and Dean couldn't decide whether he was just ashamed of himself for being a lightweight or if there was something else going on.

“Man, you were a hell of a lot more fun when you thought you were the Antichrist,” said Dean, then paused and added, “No pun intended.”

~*~*~*~*~

Shortly after lunchtime, Sam started to fidget.

Dean was so wrapped up in his one-person poker game that he almost didn’t notice, but when Sam crossed and uncrossed his legs for the dozenth time, Dean raised an eyebrow and asked, “Hey man, do you have to pee or something? What’s going on over there?”

Sam instantly turned bright red. “I’m fine.”

“Yeah right.” Dean frowned and put his cards down, then pushed to his feet and went over to where Sam was sitting. When he reached out to feel Sam’s forehead, though, Sam jerked away. Dean frowned, his hand still hovering in midair. “Dude?”

“Don’t,” said Sam. His pupils were huge and he was staring at Dean like--

“Shit,” said Dean as he took a fumbling step backwards. “Shit. Sorry. I didn’t-- I thought you were, y’know, dying or something.”

“I might be.”

“If it’s that bad--”

“Stop. We’re not talking about this.”

“Whoa, hey, I never said anything about talking.” Dean held up both hands. “I’m just saying if you need to-- y’know, take care of business--”

Sam stood so quickly his chair wobbled, and he slammed his laptop closed before stalking toward the bathroom. As he passed Dean, he muttered, “We’re _never_ talking about this again.”

“Trust me, dude, that’s not gonna be a problem.”

Sam glared at him and shut the bathroom door. When the shower came on a few seconds later, Dean’s brain provided him with some very unwelcome visuals.

“Jesus Christ,” muttered Dean. He flopped sideways across his bed, grabbed Sam’s iPod, and stuffed the earbuds in his ears. He cranked the volume as high as it would go and made a mental note to congratulate Sam on finding the only thing that would make him willingly listen to Green Day.

~*~*~*~*~

Dean had been dozing while Sam was in the shower, but when he heard the bathroom door open, he sat up and tugged the ear buds out of his ears. He was about to tease Sam for having Gloria Estefan on his iPod, but the words died on his tongue.

Sam was in a towel. That shouldn’t have been a big deal since they both wandered around half-naked after their showers, but this time, something was different. Dean shouldn’t even have noticed. He shouldn’t have been staring at Sam’s stomach, and he definitely shouldn’t have had to wonder why he couldn’t look away.

“Uh, dude?” said Dean.

Sam looked up from the suitcase he was rummaging through. His hair was clinging to his forehead, and a drop of water trickled down the side of his neck.

Dean panicked. “What the fuck, Sam?”

“What?” Sam frowned. The towel slipped lower on his hips.

Dean was pretty sure he’d never squeaked before in his life.

“Dean, what’s wrong?” asked Sam with obvious alarm. He reached out, but Dean batted his hand away.

“What the fuck?” said Dean. “What the hell happened to you in there?”

Sam touched his own face, then went back into the bathroom. A second later, he called out, “What the hell are you freaking out about, Dean? I don’t see anything. I swear if you’re fucking with me--”

“Dude, I’m not fucking with you,” said Dean. He rubbed a hand over his face. “Look, just do me a favor and stay in there for a second, will ya?”

Sam poked his head out of the bathroom. “Why?”

“Just-- Sammy, please,” said Dean. He flailed both hands in Sam’s direction until Sam rolled his eyes and ducked back into the bathroom. Dean promptly buried his face in his hands. Once he’d collected his thoughts, he lifted his head and called out, “I think the venom is starting to fuck with you.”

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure we established that.”

“No, not the other crap. It’s giving you some kind of aura or something.”

There was a pause, and then Sam replied in an amused tone, “An aura?”

“Come on, man, you know what I mean,” said Dean. “It’s making you-- I don’t know. You’re just different.”

“Different how?”

“ _Different_ , Sam, hell, I don’t know.”

“Like soulless different?”

Sam sounded so worried it made Dean’s chest ache. “No, not like that. It’s like--” He tried to think of the right words. “It’s like your hotness factor got cranked to eleven.”

There was another long silence before Sam replied, carefully enunciating each syllable, “My _hotness factor_?”

Dean buried his face in his hands.

“Can I come out of the bathroom now?” asked Sam.

Dean wasn’t sure he wanted to say yes, but he couldn’t make Sam stay in there forever, so he heaved a sigh and said, “Yeah, all right. Just quit your fucking sparkling or whatever it is you’re doing.”

“Sparkling?” said Sam as he emerged from the bathroom. “I’m not a teenage vampire, Dean.”

He’d gotten dressed while he’d been banished to the bathroom. It helped, but not enough, and when he bent over the suitcase to refold the clothes he’d been sifting through earlier, Dean had to force himself to look away. He wasn’t sure he liked where this venom thing was going.

“Dean? You okay?”

“Fine,” said Dean, because what else could he say? ‘ _No, I’ve been forced to listen to Fallout Boy and Green Day, and I’m also strangely attracted to my brother_ ’?

Sam sighed. “Do you want a beer?”

“Oh god yes,” said Dean.

~*~*~*~*~

Luckily for Dean, the whole aura-of-hotness thing seemed to dissipate after a few hours.

Unluckily for Sam, the restlessness seemed to get worse.

“Dude, would you just let me call Bobby?” asked Dean around a mouthful of pie. They’d ordered takeout for dinner and taken it down to the river because Sam had been feeling too antsy to eat in public.

Not that he was eating anyway.

“Finish your sandwich,” said Dean, jabbing his fork at the styrofoam container on the dashboard.

Sam didn’t reply. He was sitting stiffly in the passenger seat, staring out the window with his arms crossed and his shoulders hunched. A muscle in his jaw was twitching.

“Look, I know it sucks, but we’ll figure something out,” said Dean. He ate another forkful of pie, and when he looked up again, Sam was watching him intently. Dean swallowed. “Uh, what’s up, man?”

Sam didn’t move except to glance at Dean’s mouth.

Dean licked his lips self-consciously and physically recoiled when Sam’s nostril’s flared. “Uhm, Sam? You might wanna-- y’know--”

“I might want to _what_ , Dean?” said Sam in a gravelly voice.

The back of Dean’s neck prickled, and he scooted a little further away. “Dude, you’re kinda freaking me out.”

“Sorry,” said Sam, although he didn’t sound sorry at all. In fact, he barely seemed to be listening. His gaze was focused on Dean’s mouth, and he was moving incrementally closer.

“Hey, whoa,” said Dean. He dropped the pie he’d been holding and shoved himself back against the door. When that didn’t help, he put a hand on Sam’s chest and said, “You need a serious time out.”

Unfortunately, the physical contact just made things worse. Dean tried to snatch his hand away, but Sam grabbed his wrist and nuzzled his palm. The way he did it was mindless, like he was operating on instinct, and Dean refused to think about the implications of being the one on the receiving end.

“Sam,” said Dean, his voice tight. “Hey, no, quit it.”

“Shhh,” whispered Sam like he was trying to soothe a child, only filthier.

Dean tried to jerk his hand away. “God damn it, Sammy, knock it off.”

Sam’s eyes snapped open, and he fixed Dean with a predatory scowl before his expression suddenly cleared and he jerked backwards. “Shit,” he cursed. “Fuck, Dean-- fuck, I don’t know what the fuck--”

“Hey... hey, it’s okay,” said Dean, holding out both hands in a placating manner, though he didn’t dare touch Sam. “Take it easy, dude. It’s cool. Just be cool.”

Sam ran a shaking hand over his face. He looked like he’d just woken up from a nightmare.

“Hey,” said Dean, and waited for Sam to look at him before saying, “seriously, Sammy, it’s okay.”

Sam swallowed a few times before nodding, but he didn’t lose that horrible, haunted look. He was curling and uncurling his fingers against his thighs, and after a few seconds of tense silence, he said, “I need to be alone for a little while.”

“Sure-- sure, of course, dude,” said Dean. He turned away and went to open the door, but Sam’s arm on his shoulder stopped him. For a second, he thought Sam was about to start sniffing him again or something, but Sam just shook his head.

“No, you stay in here,” said Sam, looking away like he couldn’t meet Dean’s gaze. “I need _that_ kind of alone time.”

Dean’s eyes widened. “ _Oh_. Oh, right. Yeah, then uh-- yeah, you should probably--”

“Yeah,” said Sam.

After another awkward silence, Sam climbed out of the car, and Dean watched him disappear into the nearby woods. Once he was safely out of view, Dean sighed and shifted in his seat. His foot slid through something gummy on the floorboard, and he looked down.

There was apple pie all over his boots.

“Mother _fucker_ ,” said Dean, and dropped his forehead against the steering wheel.

~*~*~*~*~

Sam was different again. The aura was stronger than before, and by the time Sam climbed into the car, Dean was gripping the steering wheel. His distress must have shown, because Sam looked over at him and said, “Dean?”

“You’re doing it again.”

“Doing what?” asked Sam, but then his eyes widened, and he said, “Oh.”

The expression on his face was more appealing than it should have been. His cheeks were flushed, and his lips were parted in surprise. Dean stared at him, and before he could stop himself, he was reaching over to drag his thumb across the swell of Sam’s bottom lip.

“Dude?” said Sam. He was sitting very, very still.

Dean snatched his hand away. “ _Damn it_. Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” said Sam, although it certainly didn’t _sound_ okay.

“This is so fucked up,” said Dean. “This might be one of the most fucked up things that’s ever happened to us.”

Sam didn’t reply for a moment. Dean watched him squirm, and god damn it, even that was somehow attractive. After a tense pause, he said, “I dunno. I mean, yeah, it’s fucked up, but something’s gotta rate higher.”

“Yeah? Like what?”

“Well, there’s the whole almost-Antichrist thing for starters... you going to Hell...”

“And I’m headed straight back there if this keeps up.”

Sam heaved a sigh. “Dean, would you quit with the self-deprecating crap already? It’s not like we’re doing this on purpose.”

“You weren’t the Antichrist on purpose, either.”

“Almost-Antichrist.”

“Whatever.”

“Your hand’s on my leg.”

“What the fuck?” said Dean. He jerked his hand away and held it against his chest like it was some kind of wild animal he was trying to control-- which, now that he thought of it, was kind of an accurate comparison. He glared over at Sam, like all of this was somehow his fault, and said, “This wouldn’t be happening if you weren’t sparkling.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Dude, I’m not sparkling, and even if I was, it would only be because you summoned that amphisbaena.”

Dean tried to keep scowling, but his gaze kept wandering back to Sam’s hands. He knew he was staring, but he couldn’t seem to stop.

“Should I get out of the car for awhile?” asked Sam.

“If you don’t want me to start licking your knuckles,” said Dean.

“Right,” said Sam. “I’ll be hiding in the woods if you need me.”

~*~*~*~*~

The effects dissipated quicker the second time around, and when Sam came back to the car, he still seemed relaxed. Dean knew better than to think this meant the venom had worn off, not because they had any evidence to the contrary but because their luck was nothing if not awful.

“This isn’t a good sign, is it?” asked Sam as if reading Dean’s mind.

“Nah, probably not,” said Dean. He kept his eyes on the road, because he wasn’t sure he could look Sam in the eye if they were actually going to _talk_ about this.

“It’ll probably be even worse next time, won’t it?”

“Probably,” said Dean. “Question is, what do we do about it?”

“Well, maybe since we’re-- you know, affecting each other... I don’t know, maybe we should split up for awhile.”

Dean felt like he’d been punched in the gut, so he reached over and punched Sam in the thigh.

“What the fuck, Dean?” Sam complained, rubbing his thigh. “What the hell was that for?”

“We are _not_ splitting up.”

Sam just stared at him.

“I’m serious, Sammy,” said Dean in the same don’t-fuck-with-me voice he used to use when telling Sam to go to bed.

“All right,” said Sam, holding up a hand. “All right, no splitting up. Got it.”

Dean stared at him for a second longer, then turned his attention back to the road. Neither of them said a word for the rest of the trip, but Sam did sling an arm over the back of the seat. Dean leaned back so his neck was touching Sam’s hand, and Sam didn’t pull away.

~*~*~*~*~

  
They were both still calm when they got back to the motel, which was great for obvious reasons, but the downside was that Sam wanted to use the time for research. Dean barely made it through the door of their room before Sam had him propped in bed with a laptop on his lap and a beer in his hand. He was glad to have his alcohol privileges restored, but that didn’t mean he had to be happy about having to work.

“Dude, we’re not finding anything new,” Dean complained. “Can we please just call Bobby?”

“I am _not_ talking to Bobby about this,” said Sam. He was sitting at the table near the window, squinting at his laptop. He looked grumpy, but at least he wasn’t fidgeting.

Dean rolled his eyes. “So we’re just gonna keep reading the same Wikipedia entries over and over?”

“I told you not to use Wikipedia for research.”

“Yeah, ‘cause all those crusty academic journals you’re reading have been a huge help.”

Sam twisted around to glare at Dean. “They’re helping more than you are.”

“Sorry I can’t just wave my fingers and change the interwebs, dude. I’m telling you, man, there’s nothing online. If there was, we would’ve found it already.”

“You don’t know that,” said Sam. His nostrils were flaring and his knuckles were white on the back of his chair.

For some reason, that made Dean even angrier, like Sam’s irritation was fueling his own. He tossed his laptop aside and shoved to his feet, then stalked over to the table. “Yeah? Well what I _do_ know is that while you’re pissing around online, we _should_ be calling Bobby. You know, the dude who knows pretty much everything there is to know about shit like this?”

“God damn it, Dean, I already told you--”

“Yeah, I know, you’re too chicken shit to call him. You don’t mind him knowing you were addicted to demon blood or soulless, but horny and gay for your brother? Well that’s just embarrassing.”

Apparently, that was the wrong thing to say, because Sam on his feet before Dean could even think to move away. He was standing so close that Dean could watch his pupils dilate, and the look on his face--

“Oh shit,” said Dean, and that was as far as he got before Sam was grabbing him by the shoulders and shoving him against the wall.

“You make me so fucking angry sometimes,” whispered Sam, leaning in so his nose grazed the curve of Dean’s jaw.

“I--” Dean began, but it was like a switch had been thrown in his brain. His head felt swimmy and his skin felt tight, the way it did when some pretty girl put a hand on his crotch. His instincts were screaming at him to run, but there was nothing he could do but stand there with his head back and his throat bared, breathing shallowly through his mouth.

“You know you’ve smelled the same since you were sixteen?” said Sam. “You tried to smell like Dad. Used his aftershave, wore his jackets... Were you trying to be him for me?”

Dean wanted to say yes, he’d tried to be Dad for Sam-- he’d tried to be _everything_ for Sam-- but his throat was dry. He felt hot all over, and something dangerous was stirring inside him.

“God, what the fuck is happening to me?” whispered Sam, his breath tickling the spot just underneath Dean’s ear. “I shouldn’t want to bite you.”

Dean’s jaw clenched, and he grabbed Sam’s hips. “Stop it, Sammy,” he said. “You need to quit talking or we’re gonna end up starring in the real life version of Becky’s creepy incest fantasies.”

“That’s not actually helping,” said Sam. He sounded agonized, and he actually whimpered when he pressed his forehead to Dean’s. His fingers flexed on Dean’s shoulders like he was barely in control of his body, and his breath was hot on Dean’s lips.

“Jesus,” whispered Dean.

They stood there for a long time, staring at each other and breathing each other’s breath. Their mouths were so close together that if Dean had licked his lips, he would have been licking Sam’s too, and he was gripping Sam’s hips so tightly he was sure it must have hurt. He’d never been this turned on from barely a touch, and part of him-- the haunted, hungry part-- wanted to just give in and haul Sam up against him.

“We’re in trouble, aren’t we?” asked Sam.

“Huge trouble,” replied Dean. He’d never had the greatest self-control-- in fact, his self-control was usually pretty abysmal-- but he considered it a victory that he didn’t do more than let his bottom lip touch Sam’s.

Sam shuddered-- a hard, full-body shiver-- and closed his eyes. “Let’s just do it,” he whispered in a rush, like he needed to get the words out before he lost his nerve. “Please, Dean, just once.”

Hearing Sam actually ask for it made a piece of Dean’s mind snap back into place, and he pushed Sam away while he still had the self-control to do it. He was breathing heavily, and he hadn’t noticed his hands were shaking until they were planted in the middle of Sam’s chest.

“Dean,” said Sam, like he was begging for it, and shit, turning him down was going to be one of the hardest things Dean had ever done.

“Sammy, no,” said Dean. “That’s the venom talking, and you know it.”

“But what if this is the cure?” asked Sam. He grabbed Dean’s hand and lifted it so he could rub his lips across Dean’s palm. “What if we just need to get off together?”

“You know that’s not gonna work,” said Dean, although it was tempting to agree. “Come on, man, knock it off. Go-- I don’t know. Go lock yourself in the bathroom or something.”

“You know you’re the only one, don’t you?” asked Sam, his voice low like he was sharing a secret. He’d closed his eyes while he nuzzled Dean’s palm, but now he opened them again and stared at Dean through his lashes. “You’re the only one who turns me on like this, so maybe you’re the only one who can stop it.”

Dean’s first thought was that he was a lucky man to have Sam looking at him that way, and his second thought was that this could not possibly be his life.

He pushed Sam a little further away. When Sam just looked at him, his expression shifting from disappointment to horror, Dean swallowed and said, “I’m going to stay in the bathroom for awhile. You stay out here. Got it?”

“I--” Sam looked like he wanted to protest, but then he swallowed and rubbed a hand over his face. “Yeah-- yeah, okay, got it.”

Dean retreated into the bathroom and locked the door behind him, then sagged against the wall and closed his eyes. He wondered if it was still considered incest if the reason you were jerking off was because your brother had just finished sniffing you.

~*~*~*~*~

When Dean came out of the bathroom, he was scowling.

Sam was sitting at the table with his laptop, looking calm, collected, and free of any inappropriate sexiness. He looked up at Dean with a wary expression on his face and asked, “You okay?”

“Yeah, fine,” grumbled Dean, “except I just noticed the toilet paper is recycled.”

Sam’s frown went from wary to confused. “So?”

“I dunno, man. Every time I use recycled toilet paper, I realize I’m probably wiping my ass with some kid’s homework, and it makes me feel like a dick,” said Dean, which was as close to reassurance as he could get. Their situation was beyond fucked up, but until they could find a way to fix it, he wanted the lulls between their little ‘episodes’ to be as normal as they could make them.

Sam chuckled and closed his laptop. “Well, you’re probably wiping with celebrity gossip mags too, so I guess it balances out.”

“True that,” said Dean as he flopped across his bed. He stared at the ceiling for a second, then looked at Sam and wrinkled his nose. “Dude, are we really talking about what I’m using to wipe my ass?”

“You started it,” replied Sam. He stood and stretched, and his t-shirt rode up, showing his belly.

Dean was relieved to feel nothing.

“We should get some sleep,” said Sam as he went over to his bed and toed off his shoes. He started to unfasten his jeans, but then he paused and darted a glance at Dean. “Are you good, or should I keep my overwhelming masculinity to myself?”

After a short, surprised silence, Dean chuckled and said, “You wish, dude. You’re about as masculine as Oprah.”

“Real men talk about their feelings,” said Sam.

Dean threw a pillow at his head.

~*~*~*~*~

Dean woke up with Sam’s head on his chest.

That wasn’t actually all that unusual-- there’d been plenty of times when they’d had to sleep in the back of the Impala together because they couldn’t afford a room-- but given the circumstances, Dean figured it might be reason for alarm. He nudged Sam’s shoulder, and when that didn’t work, he grabbed a handful of Sam’s hair and pulled.

“Hngh? Huh?” Sam mumbled and rubbed his face against Dean’s shoulder, wiping drool all over his t-shirt.

“First of all, gross,” said Dean. “Second of all, why are you in my bed?”

“What?”

“Dude, you’re snuggling with me.”

Sam lifted his head and blinked at Dean.

“Yeah,” said Dean, “apparently we snuggle now.”

“Huh. That’s...”

“Somehow creepier than if we fucked?”

“I--” Sam paused, then frowned and said, “Yeah, actually.”

Dean stared at Sam, who hadn’t moved except to prop himself up on one elbow. When Sam just stared back at him, Dean raised an eyebrow.

“Right,” Sam repeated. “I uh-- I’m just gonna go take a shower or something.” He climbed out of bed with his nose wrinkled and his lips pursed, like the thought of snuggling with Dean smelled bad.

“Wash the fucking estrogen off while you’re in there,” said Dean as he rolled over and stuffed his face into the pillows. As an afterthought, he lifted his head and added, “And trim your sex sparkles before you come back.”

~*~*~*~*~

When the afternoon rolled around and they still hadn’t jumped each other, Sam stood up, slammed his laptop shut, and said, “That’s it, I’m calling Bobby.”

“Fucking _finally_ ,” said Dean. He set his laptop aside, happy to have an excuse to stop pretending to work. “Gotta ask though, man-- and don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying you shouldn’t call-- but why now? What changed your mind?”

“You haven’t noticed it’s getting worse?” asked Sam. He gave Dean a faintly disappointed, you’re-sort-of-a-moron look.

“No genius, I thought you were just finally starting to notice how hot I am,” said Dean. “Seriously dude, what got your panties untwisted? Was it the snuggling? It was the snuggling, wasn’t it?”

“It wasn’t the snuggling.” Sam sighed. He dug his phone out of his pocket and scrolled through his contacts list. “I just want to deal with this before--” He broke off and pressed his lips together.

“Before we fuck?” said Dean. He was tired of dancing around the subject, especially since he was sure they both knew where this was headed.

“Yeah,” muttered Sam. “Last time was really bad, and it’s only going to get worse.”

Dean felt weirdly insulted that Sam had just called their almost-makeout-session ‘bad’ but he just shrugged and said, “Time to give Bobby a call, then.”

Bobby answered on the fourth ring, and Sam immediately put him on speakerphone. Dean let Sam take the lead and tried not to blush while Sam explained the situation, dancing around the details of what was actually happening between them. When Sam finished talking, they was greeted with absolute silence.

Dean glanced at Sam, who frowned and said, “Uh, Bobby?”

“Yeah, I’m here,” said Bobby in a long-suffering tone. “Just ain’t sure what went wrong with you two’s upbringing that you turned out to be such idjits.”

“You want the full list?” asked Dean.

“So lemme get this straight,” said Bobby like he hadn’t even heard Dean speak. “You boys somehow managed to summon an amphisbaena--”

“Accidentally,” said Dean.

“Well that’s moron move number one,” said Bobby. “How the hell d’you _accidentally_ summon a damn amphisbaena?”

“That’s what I said,” remarked Sam.

Dean punched him in the arm.

“So you summon this thing, get bit, and wait _three damn days_ to call me? What the hell were you numbskulls thinking?”

“Look, Bobby, we’re sorry,” said Sam. “We thought we could figure out how to fix it on our own.”

“Ain’t no fixin’ it, boy, not this time.”

Dean felt his stomach drop. He shared a _look_ with Sam before asking in a gruff tone, “What do you mean, there’s no fixing it?”

“Exactly what I said. Look, you boys might be a pain in my ass, but you gotta know I’d never let you suffer if I could help it. This time, though, there ain’t nothin’ we can do except let this thing run its course. “

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” said Dean. “We’re supposed to just wait around until Sammy kicks the bucket?”

“Damn it boy, he ain’t dying. Don’t you idjits read anything ‘sides Playboy and the TV Guide?”

Dean bristled, but he didn’t interrupt.

“The word ‘death’ don’t always mean death,” said Bobby. He paused for a second, then continued in a slow, careful tone, like what he was saying was making him uncomfortable. “The uh-- the French got this saying, _La Petite Mort_...”

There was another awkward silence. Bobby cleared his throat but didn’t say more, and the tips of Sam’s ears turned red. Dean tried to catch his eye, but he seemed determined to stare at the carpet.

Finally, when he couldn’t take it anymore, Dean snapped, “Hey, anytime you cheese-eating surrender monkeys wanna clue me in, that’d be great.”

“What the hell’d you just call us?” said Bobby.

“It means ‘ _the little death_ ’,” said Sam, his cheeks flushed. “It’s a French euphemism for an orgasm.”

“Oh,” said Dean. “So? Sam already tried that. Couple of times, right Sammy?”

Sam pressed his mouth together and glared at the floor so hard his eyes twitched.

“It uh-- it can’t be a solo match,” said Bobby. “An amphisbaena’s got two heads, right? The thing’s all about connected dualism, so...”

“Oh, well that’s no big deal.” Dean shrugged. “We’ll just hop down to the bar later, pick up a couple of chicks--”

“Dean,” said Sam, his voice tight, “I don’t think that’s what he means.”

“Well maybe if you assholes would stop being all traumatized and shit and actually tell me what the hell-- oh.” Dean paused mid-rant, and he actually _felt_ his eyes widen when everything clicked into place.

“Yeah,” said Sam.

“Oh,” Dean repeated.

Sam buried his face in his hands. “We can’t do this, Bobby.”

“I hate to tell you, but it’s gonna happen eventually, whether you like it or not. I know it ain’t pleasant, but the venom ain’t gonna stop ‘til it gets what it’s looking for.”

“He’s my _brother_ ,” said Sam.

“Shoulda thought of that before you went summoning shit you got no business summoning.”

“It was an accident,” said Dean.

“Shut up,” said Sam and Bobby at the same time.

~*~*~*~*~

“So,” said Dean.

“Yep,” said Sam.

They sat across from each other at the table in their motel room. The air conditioning was rumbling, but the room felt stifling. Dean wished he could step outside for fresh air, but a storm was rolling in, and the humidity made breathing feel like drowning. He tried to pass the time by drumming his fingers on the table, but Sam scowled at him until he stopped.

They waited.

“Hey,” said Sam after ten full minutes of silence, “do you uh-- do you think maybe we should just-- you know?”

“No, Sam, I don’t think we should just _you know_ ,” said Dean, his voice tight. He knew they’d eventually have to go through with it, but they’d agreed it was better to wait until the venom kicked in so they wouldn’t have to think about what they were doing The only problem was that the venom seemed to be taking its sweet old time, and there was no way Dean was fucking Sam without it.

For starters, he wasn’t sure he could explain why he had no trouble getting it up.

He didn’t know what the hell happened, but ever since Bobby had clued them in that they’d eventually have to fuck, Dean’s body had been raring to go. Hell, he was half-hard just from thinking about it. He’d tried telling himself it was some kind of lingering effect from their last ‘episode’, but he was pretty sure that was bullshit. He was just a sick fuck.

A sick fuck whose baby brother was squirming in his seat and glaring at the floor.

“Is that the I-shouldn’t-have-eaten-that-egg-salad-sandwich dance or the having-impure-thoughts dance?” asked Dean. He wasn’t sure which answer he was hoping for.

“Neither,” said Sam without looking at him. “It’s my these-chairs-are-uncomfortable-so-why-are-we-sitting-here dance.”

“That’s your liar face.”

Sam rolled his eyes.

“We could move to the bed,” Dean suggested hesitantly. When Sam just grunted and leaned away from him, he sighed and said, “Fine. No bed, then. Wanna go for a drive?”

“God yes,” said Sam, and jumped to his feet.

~*~*~*~*~

They drove for exactly six miles before Sam said, “Pull over.”

Dean glanced over at the passenger seat, worried, but Sam was just _staring_ at him, eyes dark and nostrils flaring. Dean’s heart went crazy, pumping all his blood to his cheeks and to his cock, and yeah-- yeah, there it was. _That_ was the frenzied, can’t-live-without-it feeling he’d been waiting for.

He pulled the Impala onto the shoulder of the highway, and he barely had time to cut the engine before Sam was grabbing him by the shirt and hauling him across the seat. Dean put a hand out to steady himself, but his fingers ended up in Sam’s hair.

“Dean,” said Sam, his voice already hoarse, “you need to promise we’re not going to stop this time, otherwise I need to get the hell away from you, _right now_.”

Dean leaned back to take it all in-- Sam’s wet, parted lips and his half-wild eyes-- and tightened his grip on Sam’s hair. “You even think about getting out of this car and I’m gonna kick your ass.”

Sam’s relieved whimper would have made Dean laugh if he hadn’t been so busy thinking, _oh god, he’s going to kiss me,_ and then opening his mouth for Sam’s tongue. He didn’t know what he’d been expecting-- something hesitant, maybe, or at least kind of awkward-- but Sam kissed like he couldn’t help it, like he’d been struggling with the urge for so long it had finally destroyed his self-control.

Dean growled into the kiss. The thought of Sam wanting him shouldn’t have been hot.

They ended up half on top of each other, Dean with his back to the seat and one of Sam’s legs thrown over his thigh. Dean’s fingers were twitching in Sam’s hair, and he bucked up against nothing, already hard just from kissing.

“We should-- we need to--” said Dean, dazedly trying to come up with a more organized plan of attack. His brain immediately shut off again when Sam bit his jaw.

“You smell so fucking good,” said Sam, his nose pressed against the hollow beneath Dean’s ear. One of his hands had found its way under the hem of Dean’s t-shirt, and he dragged his calloused fingertips down the slope of Dean’s belly.

“Quit sniffing me and get on with it,” said Dean, shoving Sam’s hand away so he could unfasten his belt. That hot, impatient feeling was welling up inside him, and now that he didn’t have to fight it, he didn’t plan to try. He finally got his jeans open, then grabbed Sam’s hand to pull it down between his legs.

“ _Shit_ ,” whispered Sam, huffing the word out so it was more like a sigh than speech. He curled his fingers around Dean’s cock through his jeans and squeezed until Dean kicked the floorboard.

“God damn it, Sammy, quit fucking around and get it out,” said Dean. He tugged impatiently at his brother’s jeans, cursing the stupid button fly.

“Do you talk this way to all the girls you fuck?” asked Sam.

“No, just mouthy little brothers who’d sound better moaning around my dick.”

“ _Christ_ , Dean.”

Dean knew he’d probably be horrified later, once the venom wore off, but for the time being, that wasn’t nearly as important as dragging Sam’s jeans down and getting a hand around his cock.

“Oh hell, you’re a big boy, aren’t you?” whispered Dean. He wasn’t tiny himself, but Jesus Christ, there was no comparison. Sam’s prick was scary-huge, rock hard, and already leaking precome all over his fingers. If he hadn’t been in such a hurry to get off, Dean probably could’ve spent hours just playing with it.

Sam was already moaning, and Dean shut him up with a kiss. As soon as their lips touched, Sam groaned and shoved a hand down the front of Dean’s pants.

“Jesus Christ.” Dean growled. The position was all wrong-- his jeans were too tight for Sam to get a good grip, and he could tell that Sam’s wrist was bent at a weird angle-- but he’d never been so messed up from hardly a touch. His balls pulled up so fast it hurt, and he had to fight not to dig his fingernails into Sam’s cock.

“God, you’re so fucking hot,” muttered Sam as he bit Dean’s jaw. “You have no idea how fucking hot you sound, and you don’t even-- god, sometimes you come back after fucking some girl and you smell like sex and your stupid fucking cologne--”

It took a few seconds for Dean’s brain to catch up, but when it did, Jesus Christ, the implications were so fucking hot it was like burning from the inside out. Sam barely got three more pulls in before Dean was coming all over himself like a teenager, moaning into Sam’s mouth while his cock jerked and pumped hot spunk all over his belly and the inside of his pants.

He hadn’t even realized Sam was close until a few seconds later, when Sam growled his name and came hard all over his hand. Dean stroked him through it, pushing his fingers against the divot just underneath the head of Sam’s cock while it splattered his shirt with come.

“Oh my god.” Sam panted. “Holy _shit_ , Dean.”

“Shut up,” Dean mumbled. “Chill out, Sammy.”

Sam didn’t reply; he weaved his fingers into Dean’s hair and pull him into a messy, open-mouthed kiss that almost got Dean hard again. It occurred to Dean that they probably didn’t need to be kissing, not after the deed was done, but he wasn’t about to say so when he had Sam’s tongue in his mouth and the sticky wetness of Sam’s come on his skin.

“We should uh-- we should probably--” Sam started to say, but then he paused to bite Dean’s bottom lip. “We should probably go before someone-- you know.”

The last thing Dean wanted to do was pull away, not because he wanted to keep kissing (although he did), but because he wasn’t ready to deal with what they’d done. Sam eventually pushed him away, though, and he slid back into the driver’s seat to tuck himself away. For awhile, they just sat there, staring into space while the afterglow slowly wore off.

Sam was the first to speak: “So.”

“Yep,” said Dean.

There was another uncomfortable silence before Sam cleared his throat and said, “Pizza?”

“And beer,” said Dean. “Lots and lots of beer.”

~*~*~*~*~

Dinner was quiet. They sat across from each other in the town’s only pizza joint, nursing their beers in silence. Dean did his best to avoid eye contact, but every time he glanced up, Sam was watching him. They looked away whenever it happened, but there was a sudden awareness between them that Dean couldn’t shake. He felt twitchy and self-conscious, and he couldn’t stop thinking about Sam’s heat-of-the-moment confession.

Or the feeling of Sam’s tongue in his mouth.

By the time they left the restaurant, Dean was in no condition to drive. He tossed the keys to Sam and dropped into the passenger seat. The world was spinning, and he closed his eyes with a groan. Maybe once he got some sleep, he’d be able to stop thinking about Sam’s hand on his cock.

Sam slid into the driver’s seat and glanced at Dean from under his lashes.

“Great,” muttered Dean. “Apparently I’m going to hell. Again.”

~*~*~*~*~

Dean was expecting the aftermath of their adventure aboard the U.S.S. Incest to be lots of awkward silence followed by pretending it never happened. They were Winchesters, after all, and if there was one thing Winchesters did well, it was denial.

Sam apparently had other ideas.

They were maybe thirty seconds into their hotel room, just long enough for Dean to flop down on his bed, when Sam said, “I’m pretty sure the venom is gone.”

“Great,” said Dean, and threw an arm across his face. He hoped that would be the end of it, but he could tell by the way Sam was hovering that his brother had more to say.

A few minutes passed. Dean heard the springs in Sam’s bed squeak, followed by the thud of his boots hitting the carpet. Eventually, once he’d apparently run out of other things to do, Sam sighed and said, “We need to talk.”

“No we don’t,” said Dean.

“Dean.”

“Sam.”

“Seriously.”

“Seriously.”

“Don’t start that.”

“Don’t start that.”

“God damn it, Dean. Stop copying me.”

“God damn it, Sam. Stop copying me.”

“Jesus Christ, would you be serious for five fucking seconds?”

“I’m being serious,” replied Dean. “There’s nothing to talk about, dude. I mean, unless you wanna compliment my technique or something.”

“Dean.”

“Sam.”

There was a long pause, and Dean could practically _hear_ Sam glaring at him. Finally, Sam bit out, “We need to talk about what I said in the car.”

“Look dude, I get it,” said Dean. He flung his arm away from his face and turned his head to blink at Sam. “You got a little crazy in the heat of the moment. Trust me, I’m the king of saying fucked up shit when I’m horny. I once told a girl I wanted her to jab me in the eye with her nipples.”

Sam’s expression went from frustrated to amused, but he was blushing from his collarbones to his ears.

Dean watched him, heart pounding like a war drum, and thought, ‘ _Come on, Sammy. I just handed you an out. Tell me you didn’t mean it so we can forget it_.’

“Don’t you ever get tired of pretending?” asked Sam.

Dean ignored the the way his stomach lurched. “Well you know what they say: imagination is the key to success.”

“No one says that, and I’m not talking about imagination, I’m talking about denial.”

“Hah!” Dean jabbed a finger at Sam. “That was a real quote. Einstein.”

“ _Dean_.”

“No, I’m pretty sure it was Einstein.”

Sam hurled himself to his feet and grabbed Dean by the front of his shirt. For a split second, Dean thought Sam was about to hit him, but then he was being hauled into an open-mouthed kiss that made his head spin more than the alcohol. Before he could even think about what he was doing, he grabbed Sam’s shoulders and tried to pull him down into.

“I knew it,” said Sam, his voice gravelly like it had been in the car. “You lying son of a bitch. I knew you still wanted it.”

“No, look, I was just--” Dean tried to say, but Sam was shoving him down and rubbing up against him, and fuck it.

Fuck it.

~*~*~*~*~

“So,” said Dean an hour later. They were lying side-by-side, covered in come, with the bedsheets tangled around their feet. They’d managed to get their underwear back on, but it was too hot to bother with anything else.

“Don’t start,” muttered Sam.

“I’m not. I was just wondering where this ranks on the list of bad shit we’ve done.”

Sam turned his head to blink at Dean. “I’m not sure this is really all that bad, actually.”

“I’m pretty sure the church frowns on banging your brother, Sammy.”

“The church, yeah. But there are plenty of Biblical accounts of acceptable incestuous marriages, and even the references to homosexuality are being called into question. See, the Council of Nicaea--”

“ _Okay_ , okay, too drunk for nerd time,” said Dean. When he was sure the impromptu history lesson was over, he flung his arms up over his head and said, “Look, I’m just saying, even if it _is_ bad, it’s probably not the worst thing we’ve done, right?”

“Probably not, no. I mean, I’m pretty sure the whole vessel-of-Lucifer thing disqualifies me from running for office.”

“Don’t forget starting the Apocalypse,” said Dean.

“I’m pretty sure _you_ started the Apocalypse.”

“Whatever,” said Dean with a dismissive wave. “The point is that we could do a lot worse than brotherly love.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “Brotherly love? Dean, there was nothing _brotherly_ about what we just did.”

“Jesus you’re stuck on technicalities today,” said Dean. “Look, all I’m saying is that maybe this isn’t so bad.” He shrugged. “I mean, we’ve already done it, right? And we didn’t even have an excuse this last time. We’re together all the time anyway, and let’s be honest, you could definitely do worse.”

Sam stared at him incredulously. “Wow. You’re the vainest person I’ve ever met.”

“You would be too,” said Dean, then smiled and pinched Sam’s arm. “Anyway, come on, man. Cheer up. This isn’t all that bad.”

“That’s what I was trying to say from the start.”

“What?” Dean frowned. “No you weren’t.”

“Yes I _was_ , Dean.”

“Dude, I’m pretty sure you never said that.”

“What the fuck? Yes I _did_. I said it wasn’t all that bad, and then you were all--” Sam scrunched his face up and pitched his voice to a growl “-- _I’m pretty sure the church doesn’t want you banging your brother, Sammy_.”

Dean managed to keep a straight face for approximately two seconds before breaking down and laughing. “What the hell, dude? Was that supposed to be me?”

Sam turned bright red and scowled. “Fuck you. It’s not my fault you think you’re Batman or something.”

“Batman _wishes_ he could be me,” said Dean. He propped himself up on his elbows and surveyed the mess on his stomach, then glanced over at Sam. “Shower?”

“Nah, you go ahead,” said Sam around a yawn. “I’ll get one in the morning.”

“Gross,” said Dean, but when Sam didn’t reply, he just shrugged and pushed to his feet.

He was halfway to the bathroom when Sam said, “Hey Dean?”

Dean glanced over his shoulder. “Yeah?”

“So we’re uhm-- you know, we’re cool? With this, I mean. Whatever we’re doing. We’re cool with this.”

“Yeah man, we’re cool.”

“Good,” said Sam, but when Dean made to turn away, he hurriedly said, “Hey, uh...”

Dean raised an eyebrow.

Sam was quiet for a second, but then some of the tension seemed to bleed out of him and he said, “Thanks, Dean. You know, for everything.”

Dean stared at him-- at his annoying, ridiculous, beautiful little brother, sprawled and tousled in his bed-- and gave Sam a lopsided smile. “Anytime, kiddo.”

Sam grinned.


End file.
